


Practically Married

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela went missing for three years. Hawke is somewhat less than impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practically Married

It had been three years. Three years of dealing with everyone's problems – oh, Serah Hawke! I have lost an item of utmost importance to me somewhere in the vicinity of Hightown! In addition, there will be bandits! And blood mages! Lots of them! - and trying to stop everyone she knew from self-destructing. (Anders had a terrible habit of forgetting to eat properly if he wasn't reminded, and she'd spent an exhausting hour trying to convince Merrill that regardless of her _own_ views on blood magic, if it ended with the elf passed out on the floor from blood loss she was probably doing something wrong.)

Three years, and not once had anyone had an answer when she'd asked, “has anyone seen a pirate? About this tall, dark hair, really magnificent cleavage?” After all she'd done for the city of Kirkwall, Hawke couldn't help but feel that it was deeply unfair that the citizenry couldn't find her one bloody woman.

One bloody woman who she had deeply confusing feelings for, Hawke corrected. Obviously, some of her feelings towards Isabela were ones she'd quite happily share (and had done so, on numerous occasions – she wasn't sure Fenris had ever listened to her quite so intently), but for all her bravado after she and Isabela had first... bonded she wasn't sure she had any more idea about love than Isabela did. And yet, if she were to put a name to what she'd felt after Isabela had run, then returned, only to run away _again_... Heart broken didn't quite seem to cover it. It hadn't been like how she'd felt after Mother had died – a dull, constant ache that had never really left – but more passionate, angrier. She'd spent a cathartic evening destroying the contents of her room, and a slightly less cathartic month of visiting the Blooming Rose. That had stopped after Anders had pulled her aside and held an instructive lesson on why this was not an appropriate method of dealing with her feelings. (There had been diagrams; she would never forgive Anders for the way she always felt a little queasy passing the Rose from that day onwards.)

It probably wouldn't have been so bad if Isabela had never come back in the first place. Maybe it was because there wasn't much time to dwell on it, but aside from feeling thoroughly pissed off at the world in general (and some choice words to Varric that she'd apologised profusely for afterwards), she hadn't felt that bad after Isabela had run off with the relic. If she'd stayed away, Hawke would have been fine. Definitely. But she hadn't, she'd returned and given the damn thing she'd been looking for since they'd first met back to the Arishok, and Hawke's heart had leapt into her throat and she realised how well and truly screwed she was. And then, she'd duelled with the big, scary Qunari just to save the stupid, selfish, wonderful woman who'd gotten her in that position in the first place.

 _“I didn't do it for them. I did it for you. It was always about you.”_

And that had _hurt_ , damn it. Because Isabela had left _again_ , and this time she hadn't returned when Hawke needed her most (and there had been more of those moments than she liked to think about), she'd remained a shadow of their past that the rest of Hawke's companions pointedly Did Not Talk About, at least while Hawke was around, which had done little to improve her general demeanour. She was not some delicate flower that people needed to walk on eggshells around, and if her generally light-hearted jibes had been a little more cutting than usual then well, they'd probably been asking for it.

After a while, she'd more or less put it ( _her_ ) to the back of her mind. It wasn't as though there was a shortage of things for the Champion of Kirkwall (and Maker had she come to loathe and enjoy that title in equal measure) to do. She'd moved on with her life, and if she occasionally felt lonely in a way that no amount of _time alone_ in her room could change, it was nobody's business but her own.

And if, when she'd received Varric's note ( _Isabela's back_ , delivered by a gangly boy that had looked at her appealingly until she handed over a few silver), she'd gone to her room and maybe started a few fires (hastily put out by a deft ice spell), then they could damn well mind their own business there too.

\- - - 

She was a fool, Hawke thought to herself – not the best thoughts to be having while pinned to a wall by a rather lovely woman making short work of her robes.

“I never understood the point of all these clasps,” Isabela grumbled, apparently tiring of the things and using her knife to cut the rest of the fabric loose, exposing Hawke's skin to the cool air in Isabela's room.

“They mean you have to work for it,” Hawke said, breathing heavily. “Unless, of course, you cheat.”

“Oh sweet thing, of _course_ I cheat. That's what keeps life interesting.”

Hawke pulled away, ignoring Isabela's whine of displeasure. “And running away? Did that keep life interesting?” Isabela's face, still flushed with the exertion, fell.

“Hawke, don't.”

“You left.” The _me_ remained unspoken.

“You nearly died,” Isabela said accusingly, and Hawke felt her eyebrows raising in incredulity.

“What?”

“The Arishok could have killed you, because you wouldn't let them take me.”

“And... you think I should have just let him?”

“I shouldn't have been there at all!” Isabela grabbed a bottle lying on her bedside table and took a swig, slamming it down again heavily. “I should have been in Ostwick. I should have been safe.” She bit her lip, the gesture uncharacteristically uncertain. “But I came back.”

“Then you left.” There was little point in Hawke keeping the hurt out of her voice now. “Are you going to leave again?”

“I don't know.” It was truthful, at least, but that did little for the flare of anger that passed through Hawke, making her clench her fists tight enough to leave grooves in the palms of her hands. “But...”

“But?” Hawke asked, more bitingly than she intended.

“For what it's worth, I came back for you. I don't know what this is, but... it's something.”

“... Something,” Hawke repeated. It worked. For now. She smirked at Isabela, whose relief at Hawke's response seemed almost palpable. “Of course, you'll need to make it up to me, somehow.”

“Oh,” said Isabela, her voice breathy with false innocence. “Whatever could you have in mind?” She grinned wickedly. “A night of rutting loud enough to give everyone in the Hanged Man something to think about?”

“Rutting?” Hawke said, still smirking in amusement. “My dear Isabela, you wound me! Tonight, we shall make _love_.”

Isabela frowned in apparent disgust – the sort of frown she normally reserved for hapless poets who thought the phrase 'heart-worm' would convince her to bed them. “Must we?”

“Love making, or nothing. That is my final offer.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Serah Hawke,” Isabela murmured, her hands already making their way towards Hawke's hips, lips quirking slightly. Hawke cupped her face and pulled her in for a kiss, taking in the familiar smell of sea salt in her hair as soft lips pressed against her own.

“So I've been told.”

It was something, after all.


End file.
